


Wrong

by shaenie



Category: LOTR RPS
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-13
Updated: 2003-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/pseuds/shaenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orlando is <em>wrong</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the Contre La Montre "Taste" Challenge; 43 minutes, no PWP

Orlando had known for a long time, in deepest vaults of his mind, where he never went if he could avoid it, that he was deeply, fundamentally flawed. He had known it from the first time he had seen a guy slap his girlfriend, and felt the blood surge to his brain and his groin.

He knew he was _wrong_.

He could keep it under control, mostly, and he did. It colored his thoughts and his desires, sometimes, but he never let it seep out of his mind and into actuality.

There had been once, one time, when it was supposed to have been all right, she had told him it was all right, and Orlando had believed her. _I want it like that_ , she had said, and Orlando had believed that she meant it. But she had left, after, and she had never spoken to him again.

He had been a little drunk earlier, not too drunk, not drunk enough to be scared, and he should have been. He should have been, he should have known, because he wanted Billy badly, badly enough to go out on a limb, to put himself in the path of rejection, and actually ask Billy over.

And Billy had smiled and flickered lazy green eyes across Orlando's half-naked chest and said: "All right."

He had been all right, had been in command of himself, and Billy had been all warm skin and eager kisses, and wanting, grasping hands, and Orlando hadn't even realized the danger until he had Billy beneath him, hot and willing and making open-mouthed gasping sounds, and then it was like something breaking inside his mind, something cracking and falling apart, and he had Billy against the wall, crushed up against the wall, he was pushing Billy and growling, he had Billy's hands twisted up behind his back, and the sounds Orlando was forcing from Billy's throat were laced with pain, and he could taste Billy's sweat, and Orlando wanted more, more than that, and he had bitten down on Billy's shoulder until Billy's body was arched and trembling, still pinned against the wall, and Orlando hadn't stopped, hadn't let up, until Billy had cried out, real cry, real pain, and Orlando had wrapped his hand around Billy's cock and jerked him roughly while Orlando drove into him with everything he had, drove into him with furious intent while red and black blossoms of pleasure and need whirled like kaleidoscope images through is brain. The taste of power had been in his mouth and throat, and in his mind, and it had tasted golden.

Billy had gotten up without a word, after, and vanished into the bathroom.

All Orlando could taste now was bile and fear, his own bitter wrongness, and he rubbed his hands through his hair and tried to catch his breath, to still his mind.

When Billy came out of the bathroom, he was wearing his jeans. He stayed in the doorway for long moments, outlined in bright light, and Orlando couldn't see his face. He was grateful for that, and when Billy moved into the room, Orlando turned his head, looked away.

"When you want something like that," Billy said, his voice hard and bright, "It's customary to ask first, Orlando."

Orlando nodded, swallowed bile and self-loathing. He didn't say anything. An apology would be ridiculous.

"If you ever do that again, I'll fucking take you apart," Billy continued, and Orlando merely nodded again, face averted. He'd bitten through his lip, and the taste of blood was bright on his tongue, bright and heated, and it mingled with the taste of bile and left Orlando's stomach rolling with nausea. He heard Billy walking toward him, closing the distance between them, and didn't move, even when Billy's hand gripped his chin and turned his face. If Billy wanted to hit him, he certainly had the right. Billy's mouth was open, like he had meant to say something, but he didn't. He just looked at Orlando. Then, softly (but it still somehow _felt_ like a blow) he said: "Are you all right?"

Orlando laughed, he couldn't stop it. It bubbled up from his chest and throat and out of his mouth, and it burned like acid, vitriolic and bloody. Was _he_ all right? Was _Orlando_ all right? Shouldn't he be asking Billy that question, after ...?

He couldn't finish the thought. He staggered to his feet and pushed past Billy to get to the bathroom. He threw up painfully, threw up like his body wanted to purge itself of everything, like it was trying to get rid of Orlando completely, objecting to his residency, and Orlando could hardly blame it. What kind of body would it be, if it wanted a sick fuck like Orlando living in it, controlling it, making it do things ...

He became aware that Billy's arm was around him, that Billy was stroking his back in long, soothing motions and murmuring: "Shh, you're all right, Orli." And Orlando couldn't understand it, why was Billy still here, what was he thinking, still being here after what Orlando had done?

And then Billy said: "Tell me what happened," said it like he meant it, like he really wanted to know.

And Orlando wasn't clear on what he meant, exactly, but when he opened his mouth to ask, instead of a question, other things spilled out, other words, scrambled and choked and tasting of anguish and horror, the girl, _I want it like that_ , Orlando was _wrong_ , he was twisted, something dark lived in his brain, but god, oh god, he had not meant to do that, had not meant it and would do anything to take it back, and finally: "Why didn't you tell me to stop, Bill, for God's sake, why didn't you _stop_ me?"

Billy looked at him steadily, calmly. He didn't look at all like someone Orlando had just hurt, hurt because Orlando wanted to, wanted to hear him hurt, wanted to feel him hurt. He didn't look at all like he should, like he hated Orlando, like he was repulsed by Orlando.

Billy smiled a little, and Orlando stared, his mind spinning and whirling, as he tried to understand how Billy could be smiling at him now.

"I didn't want you to stop," Billy said, quite clearly, and Orlando blinked at him, dumbfounded and unable to make any kind of response. Billy's smile widened a little, and he petted Orlando, petted his face and his hair with gentle hands. "I really _do_ want it like that, Orlando." His smile twisted a little, turned wry. "I just want a little warning."

The world didn't seem a solid place to be, suddenly. Something like relief, something like love, something like gratitude flooded Orlando, and he grasped at Billy with hands that were shaking and strengthless. "Don't," Orlando said, and then groped for words. "Don't pretend its all right."

Billy took his hands, pressed a glass of water into them. He looked at Orlando, a long, thoughtful look. "Am I the kind of bloke that lies to his mates, Orli?" He didn't wait for Orlando to answer; there was no need. They both knew that he was not. His eyes darkened, and Orlando watched them, and felt that desire again, that want/need to hurt him, and he didn't look away. He let Billy see it. Billy caught Orlando's hand and pressed it to his crotch. Orlando could feel him through his jeans, and he was hard. "I thought I'd come when you bit me," he murmured huskily, his eyes wide open and honest. "You're _not_ wrong, Orlando. I wasn't angry that you did it. I was angry that you didn't ask first."

Orlando drank the water, drained the glass in one long gulp, and it was cool and sweet, and washed away the bitterness lingering in his mouth.

"Just a little warning," Billy said again, and then added: "Warn me next time."

Billy smiled, slow and real, and Orlando bent and licked at his lips, and they tasted golden.


End file.
